Page:Thrummy cap (2).pdf/20

 20                The father shook his head--My son You know not what you ask, To drive a gig in crowded streets Is no such easy task

The horses full of rest and corn, Scarce I myself can guide, And much I fear if you attempt, Some mischief will betide.

Then think, dear boy, of something else That's better worth your wishing: A bow and quiver, bats and balls, A rod and lines for fishing.

But nothing could young Jehu please Except a touch at driving: 'Twas all in vain, his father found, To spend his breath in striving.

At least, attend, rash boy! he cried, And follow good advice, Or in a ditch both gig and you Will tumble in a trice.

Spare, spare the whip, hold hard the reins, The steeds go fast enough; Keep in the middle beaten track, Nor cross the roads so rough;

And when within the town you come, Be sure with special care, Drive clear of signs, posts, booths, and stalls, And monsters of the fair.